


Acceleration

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Driving, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-08
Updated: 2008-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam shows Gene just how much of a speed demon he can be. Sam/Gene pre-slash with a fleeting hint at Sam/Cortina.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceleration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shotaphile](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shotaphile).



> Written for shotaphile for the 2008 Armed Bastards Holiday Fic Exchange.

Gene had known this was a bad idea the second he had dropped the keys into Sam’s eager hand.

He had known this was a bad idea because, for once, Gene had actually been sober when the exchange took place. Mostly sober. Whatever the hospital had pumped into his veins before stitching up that silly stray bullet wound in his arm was still plumping the edges of his senses into so many goose down pillows, but his throat was parched, desolate without the flasks Sam had confiscated along with his keys.

‘Hurry it up, Tyler,’ he rasped, slouching into the unfamiliar passenger seat. ‘We’re already a good twenty minutes out from the pub, and your pansy-arsed driving isn’t helping.’

Sam stiffened upright in the Cortina’s driver seat – in _his_ seat – and glared back at him. ‘I’m taking you home, Guv. You need to rest.’

‘Bollocks. Just a scrape, this.’ He waved his left arm in demonstration, and promptly winced at the pain shooting from shoulder to leather fingertips.

‘Home.’ Sam turned back to the road, features grim.

‘Fine. I can have me a few there just as well.’

‘Not if your wife has anything to say about it.’

‘Not home, is she?’

‘Isn’t she?’

‘Nope. Staying with her mother.’

‘Thought that was last week?’

‘Last week, this week, does it matter? She’s not there, but what I have got is a lovely single malt waiting at home for me, and I reckon I’ll be putting away at least half of it before bedtime.’

‘You do that, then.’

‘Just said I will.’

‘Fine.’

‘Alright.’

‘Good.’

Gene huffed a breath, shifting awkwardly in his seat. ‘Well, seeing as we’re in agreement, reckon you can speed it up finally?’

Sam opened his mouth, clearly ready to explode, then paused. His eyes flicked back towards Gene, and he could clearly see those mad gears chugging in that brain of his.

‘You want me to drive fast for you, Gene?’

The shift in Sam’s voice, so suddenly hushed, made Gene’s nerves throb in a way that had little to do with the drugs. Sam’s words were a dare with unknown stakes on the line, but Gene would worry about the specifics later.

‘If you even know how, you great mincing girl.’

His retort should never have prompted a smile, much less the wicked glint of teeth that temporarily blinded Gene before the air was knocked out of his lungs.

The Cortina devoured the road ahead and spat it out far behind, faster than Gene could perceive before Sam took the next turning. Hard. Wheels squealed tight to the road, then surged forward again, growling fierce past a block of warehouses.

‘Jesus!’ Gene gripped the edge of his seat. Thought briefly of the seat belt before manfully stifling the idea down. ‘Bloody hell, what…’

‘I took a course on defensive driving back in two thousa-- back at Hyde,’ Sam explained, speaking loud over the roar of the engine. ‘The transmission fell out of the car. But don't worry, I'm sure Fords are built sturdier then that little Mini…’

‘Crates.’ Gene gulped hard, eyeballing the stacked wooden crates in the road ahead. If the crazy bastard so much as chipped the paintwork on his baby…

‘Oooh.’ Sam grinned, and accelerated. Hard.

‘ _Crates._ ’ That wasn’t a whimper in his voice. It wasn’t.

‘Oh, _yeah…_ ’ A flick of tongue moistened Sam’s lips, almost distracting enough to draw Gene’s attention away from the impending doom of his beloved motor’s beautiful bronze body but they were coming fast now, faster, closer…

Sam snapped the wheel hard to the left, then the right, jackknifing the Cortina neatly around the crates. Stunned, Gene twisted around to stare out the rear window; not a single one was out of place. ‘That’s different,’ he remarked faintly.

‘That’s nothing.’ Sam met his turning head with a provocative eyebrow before turning back to the road, eyes wild with excitement. Gene followed the direction of his gaze, and cursed softly.

‘Somebody really ought to clean all this shit off the roads,’ he muttered bleakly.

The Cortina charged past obstructions with harsh twists and long, singing curves of her wheels without dropping speed. Sam cleared more shipping crates, rubbish bins, and something that looks suspiciously like a mangled chassis with a ridiculous precision that would have seemed inhuman if not for the look of feral pleasure on Sam’s face. By the time they turned off the industrial road and into a network of back alleys leading to Gene’s home, his attention was equally divided between the road and Sam.

Another sharp turn sent Gene sliding sideways again, bumping up against Sam and his arm as he shifted gears back up to fifth. Gene stared, transfixed, at his hand manipulating the gearshift: confident and controlled but not too tight. There was something strange, almost obscene about Sam’s bare skin against that rounded knob where Gene was used to seeing his own respectably gloved hand.

Gene steadied his breath. ‘Stop the car.’

‘What?’ Sam took another tight turn.

‘I said, stop the car.’

‘Haven’t got you home yet.’ He laughed briefly, tossed the Cortina down the next street.

‘Stop the car.’ Gene bit the words out, harsh and tight. ‘Stop the car. Right. Now.’

Sam glanced up Gene’s street, threw him a derisive smirk, and defiantly gunned the car the rest of the way to Gene’s house before braking with one last squeal of tires. ‘Done,’ he announced smugly, leaning back with one arm slung over the back of his seat.

Gene studied him ferociously. ‘Keys.’

Sam held them out, eyes narrowed intently. Turning and reaching with his injured arm, Gene wrapped a gloved fist around Sam’s hand and the keys together, holding tight while his other hand took Sam by the back of the neck and pulled him forward into a hard, searing kiss.

Beyond Sam’s vague sound of pleasured surprise, it was the visceral slide of Sam’s tongue against his own, that unapologetic return of the near-accidental gesture, that made Gene pull back in flustered shock. He gasped for breath, heart still racing from the whirlwind drive, and suddenly found it easier to stare at Sam’s pink, moistened mouth rather than his eyes.

‘Gene…’ The lips disappeared, slid against his own gentler than before, a touch triggering memories of ambulance sirens and throbbing, wretched pain and Sam’s face hovering over him and full of too much, just _too much_ to read before his eyes had drifted shut but not before that touch of lips, this touch of lips against his own.

Memory pounded into him like a punch to the gut. ‘You’re a bloody sneak, Tyler,’ he growled, returning Sam’s soft kisses with greater urgency.

‘What’s that?’ Sam murmured lazily. His tongue stroked hot just inside Gene’s parted lip, making him shudder before replying several beats out of sync.

‘You drove my car.’ Gene intoned darkly, as suggestively as he could.

‘Mm-hmn…’ Sam’s eyes flickered open, teasing and hot.

‘You drove her hard…’

‘Fuck, yeah…’ His free hand drifted along the back of the seat and into Gene’s hair.

‘Know what that means?’

‘Tell me…’

‘Means I get to drive you,’ Gene whispered, fingers tightening at Sam’s nape. ‘Hard.’


End file.
